Sometimes, it’s just fun to wonder what life would be like if I were famous. Not INFAMOUS, and not locally well-known, but like household name, Louboutin names a shoe after you, you get to be on the cover of Vanity Fair famous. Achieving this level of celebrity status is not a particular goal of mine, but every time I read a magazine and hear about how Penelope Cruz ate In-N-Out burgers at a photo shoot, I wonder—what if that were me?

First of all, what am I famous for? I think it’s fair to say that I could be a Broadway Diva. Not any sort of rapper, or Madonna-Gaga-Perry-Minaj-esque performer, but something quirky and creative that still gives me some star power and heft when it comes to demanding things. Wait. I’VE GOT IT. Improv comedy. And I write children’s books based upon the imaginary lives of the stuff on my desk that I’ve randomly accumulated. Like my three My Little Ponies. Or my Sarah Palin bobblehead. Or maybe I’m an interior decorator. Or a harpist/balloon animal creator. I actually have no idea what I’d be famous for, but let’s just say I’m famous, and I get to send out a rider of demands and requests wherever I go.

My Faux-Celebrity Demands

Schweppes Ginger Ale, in cans, not bottles

The Laughing Cow mini Babybel cheese

Triscuits

A way for me to make tea

Fuji apples

Carrots, but NO DIP WHATSOEVER

A brand new tube of Maybelline mascara in brownish-black

The latest issues of In Style, Glamour, Newsweek, SKYMall and National Geographic

Flowers should be cheerful. Think sunflowers, daisies, tulips, roses…I’m apparently like Katy Perry in my request for NO CARNATIONS.

If it’s orange, I don’t want to see it.

I’m going to need some really ridiculous movies to watch. Like Drop Dead Gorgeous, Mulan, and 10 Things I Hate About You. And of course, Notting Hill. And umm, Slumdog Millionaire. Also, if there’s a TV, it should have access to TLC because I’m going to need to catch up on DC Cupcakes and Sister Wives.

Anyone waiting on me in any capacity should be dressed in Regency Era garb.

My dressing room will need to play the 1812 Overture on a continuous loop.

Okay, I think that’s about it. Although I always wonder when reading these celebrity riders why they don’t just bring all this stuff themselves. JLo’s whole dressing room has to be white…why can’t she provide her own chairs and candles? Kanye West has to have six Versace towels…why doesn’t he just travel with a bunch of them? The one demand that actually makes a little bit of sense to me is how MJB (that’s Mary J. Blige to you) asks for a brand-new toilet seat in her bathroom. I get that—it’s a sanitary thing. But if you ever read celebrity riders—and I know that you have, don’t lie to me—you know they put some crazy stuff in there.

I don’t have a particular yen for fame, given that I’m nervous to meet most celebrities. I’d much rather be known for being consistently kind than for something I do to make a living. When I was growing up, sure, I thought it might be fun to be a famous actress, or author, or circus performer. But considering that I don’t like strangers to know everything about me (HELLO STALKERS), I’m really not cut out for it. I like my privacy. I like being able to answer my own phone and go to my bestie’s house for a movie night whenever I feel like it. I like that I haven’t had to change my name to Hannalie Zim, because my last name is actually too long for the public to handle, and Hannah is too normal. (Mia Wasikowska got to keep her name though, so I’m probably safe.) So, for now, my demands exist only in my head—and now in this letter. Although if I’m coming over for dinner, your cheese is not safe from me. And I’d better hear some Tchaikovsky upon my entrance.